


And the wind throws screams on your grave

by Lenami



Category: I Medici | Medici: Masters of Florence (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Francesco lives, Generally fucked up relationships, Giuliano's death, Grief, Guilt, Hatred and Love, Heavy Angst, Life is complicated and scary, M/M, Murder, Not Beta Read, Not that much of it, Rated mature because of the suicide talk, Suicide often mentioned/discussed, Toxic Relationships, Venice, Violence, it's not supposed to be romantic!, tragic, violence etc.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:54:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24577876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenami/pseuds/Lenami
Summary: They didn’t hang him. Francesco was actually surprised by that- and surprise was the last thing he expected to feel after murder."He should have killed me. Or maybe… " he thought as Lorenzo came closer and crunched down before him. "Maybe he wants to kill me with his hands."
Relationships: Francesco de' Pazzi & Guglielmo de' Pazzi, Giuliano de' Medici & Lorenzo "Il Magnifico" de' Medici, Lorenzo "Il Magnifico" de' Medici/Francesco de' Pazzi
Comments: 34
Kudos: 34





	1. Pay for my sins with air from my lungs

**Author's Note:**

> Look at me writing, when I shouldn't. Honestly, I am not sure where I am going with this story, because there is so many things that could happen here, even though I planned it quite precisely. Still, I hope it's going to be a good read. I was inspired by "The crime and Punishment" I read recently and by some works of Shakespeare. The title is taken from the poem "Dedication" by Czeslaw Milosz.

They didn’t hang him. Francesco was actually surprised by that- and surprise was the last thing he expected to feel after murder. Lorenzo visited him few times without saying anything, just watched him with hateful eyes. Once, he came into his cell, looming over Francesco who curled against the wall, hating himself for the fear he felt.

 _I finally lost myself. He should have killed me. Or maybe…_ he thought as Lorenzo came closer and crunched down before him. _Maybe he wants to kill me with his hands._

He shuddered when he saw the dagger in his hands but he raised his chin higher, making Lorenzo look him in the eye and exposing his throat- daring him to make another move.

Lorenzo touched his face briefly, brushing fingers against his cheekbone. It was almost tender. Then, his hand went up and tangled into Francesco’s hair, grabbing it roughly and forcing his head back. He didn’t resist but he also didn’t stop the eye contact as he felt the blade pressed against his throat.

They both waited.

 _Do it!_ _Kill me, cut me! Do it!_ he didn’t say it out loud.

Lorenzo stayed silent for a while, then released him and dropped the dagger. He caught Francesco’s face between his hands.

“See? Despite all of despicable things you did… I still want you.” He put stray lock of hair behind Francesco’s ear. “That must be the devil, tempting me to fall for a beautiful thing he put in my way.”

He brushed Francesco’s lips with his thumb, making the move like he wanted them to open. Francesco let him, forgetting himself for a second.

“You should have hung me. Pay for sins with air from my lungs. Send me straight to hell so you could join me after your death. Hellfire will burn us both, Lorenzo. You should have killed me.”

“It would break my heart. _You_ broke my heart.” His voice was tense, pure hurt in it. “I didn’t know it’s possible to hate someone and still... I can’t forgive you, but God, I want to.”

“You shouldn’t.” Guilt and sorrow washed over him. He closed his eyes and felt Lorenzo’s hands leave him. He instantly missed the touch. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know” Lorenzo straightened up and took a deep breath like he tried to gather himself up. “But I have to arrange something quickly.”

And just like that- he left.

Francesco didn’t hear from anyone for few next days and he spend them either walking in circles or curled into a ball and shivering under his cloak. Cold prickled his skin, creeped inside his clothes and after a while, he realised he had a fever. It gradually got worse- he had nightmares before but now he could see the visions while being lucid. He thought he could hear Jacopo’s voice, scolding him. Sometimes it was Giuliano, just sitting there, looking at him.

 _I always hated you, I did._ He thought- or maybe said out loud to him? _I never known better than hatred. You Medicis never appreciated what you had. It’s a hard and painful life, no one there to rescue you, only your own hands to dig yourself out. It breaks your skin and scratches your eyes, kicks you back over and over again. You would burn if you lived it._

 _It’s not the explanation._ Giuliano would say back to him, sitting on the dirty floor.

_I know it’s not. But now they will have to- oh, they will, live it. They will burn and hate and kill and hurt. Hurt, hurt, hurt._

_Like I did_. Giuliano’s eyes would shine in the darkness of the night, even though he wasn’t really there.

 _Yes_ , Francesco rasped into the emptiness, looking at something that wasn’t real. And the devils would sing his name and call to him.

_Traitor, murderer, tempter! Oh, what a fool, what a fool to fall for the whispers of a liar! Fool to love, fool to hate! Hate and die, or love and lose._

He thought he would go mad altogether. And he was at verge of madness, when after five days Guglielmo finally came to see him. He didn’t say anything at first, just kneeled before him took Francesco into his arms, not bothered by how dirty he was. He cradled his head, swinging them back and forth a little bit.

“Guglielmo…”

“Shush.” He interrupted him. “I should have done something, taken better care of you. Now is too late.”

He paused for a second, like he was gathering himself to say some more.

“Can you forgive me?” Francesco held on to him like he was holding for his life.

“Whatever happens. Whatever happens, I will always forgive you, even if it’s not my place.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“We forgive people we love. I love you, as much as I love Bianca, as much as I love my daughter. It doesn’t matter how far I am. I will come back for you.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.” Guglielmo had tears in his eyes. “Oh, Francesco. My little brother. Remember that I love you always.”

Francesco felt like a great weight was lifted from him.

_There is a one, one soul, only one that has some love for me and only this will save me from damnation._

“I have to leave Florence by tomorrow, I came only to say goodbye but they told me you have fallen ill.” He pressed his cool hand against Francesco’s forehead with a look of disapproval on his face. “I will send you a physician and some more clothes.”

 _Why a dead man would need more clothes? He should send me a priest to cure my black heart-_ he wanted to say but he didn’t let the words come out.

Guglielmo paused for a second and them took his own mantle and put around his shoulders. They stayed like that for a while, and when it came time for him to go, they didn’t say anything else.

* * *

Physician send by Guglielmo didn’t have time to arrive; in the middle of the night, Lorenzo came to get him. Visibly in poor mood, he forced Francesco up and let him falter behind him as he walked him outside of his cell.

“Today, you are going to die.” His voice was sharp and mean, alien.

“Are you going to stab me in the back of an alley like Venetians do? Is this ordeal about it? Simple hanging would suffice, you know.” Francesco felt dizzy from the fever and also grumpy, as anyone woken in the middle of the night would be. He really didn’t want to deal with Lorenzo at the moment even if, in retrospect, talking about stabbing was a bad idea.

“Don’t tempt me.” He clenched his teeth. “Today is the day of your supposed execution. Florence thinks you died today. “

“It’s amazing, being dead, then.” That sentence earned him enraged glare from Lorenzo.

 _Maybe one day I will be able to provoke him._ He thought bitterly even though he felt better than he did in days, his head finally clear.

“I am getting you out of here.” Lorenzo’s voice was bitter, too.

As they walked, Francesco thought of appropriate response. Lorenzo didn’t wait for him and he couldn’t keep up, weakened by the illness. His knees felt a little shaky; that made him feel unreasonably humiliated and his irritation only grew.

“You are a coward, Lorenzo. You should have killed me.” He spat out with anger just as they were about to get in the carriage.

 _Is he going to ignore my words?_ He stood, waiting for a response, and for a while it seemed like indeed there won’t be one but then, suddenly, Lorenzo snapped and Francesco felt burn of the slap across his cheek.

“Is that what you wanted?”

 _Yes._ He held himself back from voicing that thought and they both treated silence as the end of a subject.

As they got in, Lorenzo looked him up and down again, taking in his flushed cheeks. Francesco let out surprised sight as he put his hand on his forehead.

“There are horses waiting outside of the city. Do you think you will be able to ride?”

“Yes, I think so.” He actually wasn’t sure. “Aren’t you afraid I would try to run away?”

“You won’t”

He was right.

* * *

_Despicable. Lovely. Cruel. Frail. Hateful. Beautiful. Just so beautiful._ Lorenzo’s thoughts were a mess. He stared at Francesco on the horse next to him. He rode with visible difficulty, exhausted by the fever and long way but he stayed silent, without any complaints. His face was flushed and hair messy.

Lorenzo looked past his shoulder, for maybe hundredth time this night, thinking about the day his father was attacked.

 _We shouldn’t travel in the night, it is too dangerous. On the other hand, we shouldn’t also travel during the day. We just shouldn’t travel altogether, honestly. I have no goddamn idea what I am doing._ Through his head flashed thought about grabbing Francesco, dragging him into the bushes and just finishing all of this with his dagger. He imagined how his fevered, hot skin would feel under his fingers and how his blood would run down his throat. _Would he grab onto me? Would he push me away?_

He cursed himself. _Am I going crazy? Thinking about killing him, like some thug on the side of the road. I think there’s inn somewhere on the road nearby._

His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Francesco tipping over in his saddle. He didn’t fall but horse stopped. Lorenzo jumped off and rushed to his side.

“Oh, fuck. Francesco, Francesco.” He touched the side of his head tentatively, trying to wake him.

_He simply passed out. Should I take him off the horse or bring him around first? Christ, this is getting out of hand._

“Lorenzo? Did I…? Fuck.” He straightened up, slowly, like he wanted to make sure nothing was broken.

“I think you should get off the horse and stop for a night.” Lorenzo gave him arm to steady himself. Francesco jumped off clumsily, falling on him in the process. They both stopped moving for a moment, just holding onto each other.

“Alright.” He suddenly took his hand away like it burned. “Let’s go find somewhere to sleep.”

It took them a while to make it but soon enough they arrived at the inn. The owner, woken in the middle of the night, was suspicious but he rented them a room.

In the candlelight, Lorenzo watched as Francesco took off his shirt. His jutting collarbone cut elegant line on his skin. The shadows painted his sharp face.

 _This is so familiar_ , he thought. It reminded him of all of those nights they used to spend together in the study, talking business. _I must be shameless if I still desire him after he killed my brother._

_But I do. And it’s something more than desire. Christ, I am disgusting._

“What did you tell your family about this sudden trip out of the city? I suppose they would scratch your eyes out if they knew that you let me live…” Francesco bore his hungry gaze, probably not understanding completely what caused it. His pupils were blown wide and he still looked sick.

“I am going to Rome anyway, to prevent conflict with pope. Few more days of absence won’t kill them.”

“You shouldn’t have hung Salvati.” The both laid down in their beds, facing each other. “They are going to excommunicate Florence.”

“Oh, and you are the one to tell me this? He plotted the entire conspiracy to kill me and my brother. No, above all, Salvati had to die.”

“I killed your brother, Lorenzo. Not Salvati.” Francesco’s voice was tense and he sounded more right in his mind than he did throughout entire night. “And yet you help me. What does this mean? Are you going to take me to Rome with you?”

 _How dare he? How dare he, to say it out loud?_ Lorenzo felt new wave of anger at his words.

“I don’t think you would ever be able to understand, Francesco.” _I love you, you despicable murderer, you monster, you worthless trash. You are the most horrid and beautiful thing in the world._

“I suppose I wouldn’t.” Francesco said bitterly, his voice scared and angry at the same time. He puffed the candle out and the darkness filled the room.

 _I do want him to die_ , he realised at that moment. _But I also want him to live. I want him to say he regrets it, I want to hold him and watch over him in his illness. I want him to suffer and I want him to be happy._

_God._

He fell asleep quickly and dreamt of kissing Francesco’s bloody hands.

* * *

“We are close to the coast.” Francesco could feel sea in the air even though they couldn’t see it yet.

“Good. That means that there are just few miles left. We didn’t have to stop for the rest.” Lorenzo sat next to him on the grass and without any warning pressed his hand against Francesco’s forehead.

 _It feels inappropriate, during the day. He should just ask._ Francesco raised his eyes to meet Lorenzo’s. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the blue iris. _But he always liked to keep people close; the only question is why would he want to keep me close? He should want to get rid of me but no: here he is, too noble to kill his brother’s murderer but running around hanging bishops who are just an inconvenience. He is not so just and fair as he would like to think he is._

Francesco felt a pang of regret about Salvati’s death. They weren’t close in any way but knowing that he died made him melancholic in a way. They weren’t that different.

Lorenzo touched him a split second too long for it to be meaningless and he resisted the urge to lean into his hand. It felt good.

Neither of them commented on this gesture.

“I want to write to Guglielmo.” He broke the silence. “I want him to know I am alive.”

“No.” Lorenzo got up, irritation in his voice.

“No?” He stood up too, also feeling anger bubble in his chest. He was talking to Lorenzo’s back now. “You should punish me, not him. He suffers…”

Lorenzo didn’t let him finish, turning around and grabbing him by the doublet. Francesco lost his balance, surprised.

_He was never the one for violence._

“You took my brother, you don’t get to keep yours.” His voice sounded hurt but also furious and Francesco felt his own irritation grew, not because of refusal but because of Lorenzo’s hands, grabbing him.

“It’s not his fault! It was me. Me, Lorenzo.” He hissed and pushed him; both of them stumbled back. They looked at each other with hatred.

“You made decision for him!”

Lorenzo slapped him in the face in a manner so unusual for him, Francesco needed few seconds to gather himself.

_I didn’t expect that._

But it wasn’t like that night in Florence- this time Francesco saw red. Being hit like that- it felt humiliating. It burned He took a swing, tried to strike him back but Lorenzo caught his hand and twisted it viciously, with malice.

“You made decision for every one of us!”

“You made _your_ decision when you ordered Novella to spy on me!” Francesco did not care anymore. He tried to wrench his hand from his grip and when it didn’t work, he just hit Lorenzo right square in face.

Lorenzo didn’t hesitate to repay him and he gave back the blow twice as harder. Both of them fell to the ground, rolling on the grass.

“I did not order Novella to spy on you! You are blind, Francesco! Can’t free yourself from Jacopo’s words still, because from the beginning to the end, always, always, you were just begging him for the scraps of affection! Worship him all you like but you will never, never be good enough for him. Lick his boots and maybe, maybe, one day he will look your way! ” Lorenzo rolled them again and pushed Francesco’s shoulders to the ground painfully.

“Oh tell me, tell me more about my wrongs, Lorenzo while you go rule over Florence. Go, be a tyrant! Strike me again!” Francesco spat out with venom, clawing at Lorenzo’s hands, trying to free himself.

“Say that you regret it.”

They both struggled, Francesco kicked his legs uselessly, feeling like a child again; useless and powerless.

_I don’t fucking care anymore._

“You will never hear it, do you understand? You won’t.” _Kill me, do it right now! With cruelty and anger, do it! Stab me, strangle me!_

_Pay for my sins because I can’t do it alone._

“You owe me this.” Lorenzo sounded hurt and bitter. His grabbed Francesco even harder, his grip was no doubt going to leave a bruise.

“You used me! For your bank, for your family!”

“Say it! Say it, say it!” Lorenzo’s desperation took over and Francesco felt his own head hitting the ground over and over again.

“People of Volterra scream, Lorenzo, they scream!” He laughed like a madman and stopped struggling beneath him. “Strike me again! Hit me!”

He smiled even when his face hurt, feeling hot blood run from his nose.

“We will both burn in hell, oh yes, we will!” It seemed like he could see Giuliano again, over his brother’s arm, looking at them.

“Don’t. Don’t do this. No, don’t do this.” Lorenzo’s voice was shaky as he got up. For a second Francesco thought he was free but then he felt his hands on himself again, grabbing him from behind.

“Kill me, Lorenzo, kill me!” He started to chant, trying to turn in Lorenzo’s hold as he was dragged back to the place where horses stood. “Just fucking do it!”

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”

Both of their voices turned to incoherent screams and then, everything wet black.

When Francesco regained his consciousness, he was laying on the ground again.

“Is your temper tantrum over?” Lorenzo with sour expression on his face sat by his side; his clothes were dishevelled and he had dust on his hair.

_I probably look even worse. Oh, Jesus, I can actually feel bruises forming. Amazing._

“I would be doubtful about _who_ had a temper tantrum.” He sat up carefully and touched his bloody nose. “Did you break my nose?”

He felt like he was drunk a minute ago and he just woke up with hangover.

“No, of course not. Let me see.” Lorenzo grabbed him by the chin and examined it. Francesco’s stomach jumped in a weird way.

“You will be alright.”

“It hurts like a bitch. You are not a physician, how could you know? And besides, would you please stop that?” He tried to pull himself back and raised his eyebrows.

“Stop what?”

“The touching? You do it constantly.” He gestured vaguely at his hand.

“Oh, I don’t think you really mind.” Lorenzo’s voice sounded like he was extremely sure of himself but he took the hand away like it burned.

“How can you be so sure?” Francesco folded arms on his chest.

“Well, do you mind?”

Lorenzo got even closer and Francesco’s breath caught. He dropped his eyes.

“No, I don’t.”

They stayed silent for a moment and then Lorenzo leaned in and took his face between his hands. It was a clumsy gesture, but sweet nonetheless. It made Francesco ache with yearning for something long forgotten, buried deep inside of him.

_I shouldn’t… Just a moment ago we tried to scratch our eyes out._

“I am sorry I hit you.”

“I deserved it, to be fair.” Francesco put a hand on his knee awkwardly, in an attempt of reassuring gesture. Lorenzo grabbed the hand and intertwined their fingers.

“You were weakened by the fever, I shouldn’t have used that.” Lorenzo looked at him sheepishly and gently touched his face again. “Let me see that. Look, you are right about me not being a physician, but there is no swelling. Probably nothing broke.”

They both fell silent for a moment and Lorenzo unexpectedly pulled them to lay on the ground. He rested his forehead against Francesco’s, closed his eyes.

Francesco looked as wind moved Lorenzo’s curls. The only sound he could hear was the howl of the wind and their breaths, so delicate and quiet in comparison to it.

“Lorenzo?” He asked, letting his voice sound small. He felt bared to the world, vulnerable.

“Yes?” He opened his eyes to look at him.

“You have to tell me why.”

“I love you.” Lorenzo raised their intertwined hands to kiss his fingers, without breaking the eye contact.

For Francesco, there was no other way to respond but to press his lips against his in a slow kiss. He let Lorenzo get on top of him, press their interlaced hands to the ground and pliantly opened his mouth.

Because saying “love you” back- no matter how true it was, would be a sin.


	2. Nothingness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for a bit of a break between the chapters but this time has been unexpectedly busy for me. I had most of the text written a while ago but it needed editing. There is a lot of thinking and talking about feelings here but I had to let them take a break from each other. Also, Sandro appears because I love his works:) I hope he isn't out of character. I wish everyone a great July! Enjoy!

When they arrived in Venice, Francesco wasn’t exactly surprised- he was familiar with the road, but he still couldn’t help turning to Lorenzo and saying:

“Venice? You couldn’t come up with something better? I could be recognised here.”

Lorenzo made a sour face like he knew that there could be better alternatives and just gestured vaguely at the road.

“And would you agree to stay in the countryside?”

“Since when I am the one to make decisions?” Francesco retorted, looking grimly at the city. It wasn’t because of Venice, he didn’t hate it but right now, everything felt devoid of sense.

 _Venice? What is Venice for? No bank, no family, no purpose for me. It’s ironic how avoiding the punishment for my crime actually made my life meaningless._ He glanced at Lorenzo- he seemed grumpy and just as uncertain as he was. _What am I going to do? Live for him? Because he wants me to, because he loves me? He says that killing me would break his heart and then he gives me a bloody nose. He hates me because even my ugliest deed didn’t stop him from loving me. I am feeding our sick feeling that eventually is going to poison us both. If it didn’t poison him already._

Lorenzo rented him an apartment, beautiful place with a view at the bay which made his frustration even worse.

 _He should lock me up in some dark, ugly place. But no, he prefers to keep me in a golden cage like I am some mistress he tries to hide from his family. Does he actually think that can fool himself with that?_ He felt a pang of guilt at the thought. _I should cut him some slack. He is hurting worse than I do. Whatever madness made him keep me, it’s brave. Even if it won’t work._

They stood in the bedroom filled by bright, golden sunlight. Francesco leaned against the windowsill, looking at him with questioning eyes.

_What now?_

“Can I leave you here, Francesco? And trust that you won’t leave?”

“I don’t think I could even if I tried to.” He was in mood for a quarrel but regretted the words just as they left his mouth. _Even if it’s true. But I shouldn’t pretend I am held here against my will._ He folded arms on his chest and sighed. “Someone will be watching me, right? I am impressed you managed to organize this in time that short.”

“Let’s not do this right now. We are both tired and I have to head to Rome soon. I want to eat and take a bath first.”

“Alright. But we should talk before you go.” _Now, everything will always be on his terms._

“Over the dinner.” He replied shortly.

Lorenzo gave him some fresh clothes he brought for him and they both prepared for bath. He took off the dirty doublet with relief. As expected, he had quite a few bruises. He could see Lorenzo’s eyes following him, searching for injuries too. Their fight left only small bruise on the Lorenzo’s jaw.

_Just the feeling of how inappropriate this is just... And I know it’s wrong, so wrong._

He turned his gaze on the floor, linen sliding off his skin. The air was cool and he was surprised when Lorenzo came closer and touched his shoulder. He leaned down to kiss a bruise there. It was warm.

“You are beautiful.”

_It’s all ugly inside._

“We shouldn’t.” He said but despite that he reached out and pushed stray strand of hair behind Lorenzo’s ear.

“Yes, we shouldn’t.” He agreed and with visible reluctance stepped back. “See you on dinner.”

He left then.

By the time the food was served, Francesco was starving. They both ate in silence until Lorenzo finally spoke:

“I am leaving someone to watch you, to be honest. You know I don’t trust you. I can’t.”

“I do. I don’t resent you for that.” he leaned back in his chair, avoiding Lorenzo’s gaze. “But do you have anything planned for long term? You can’t keep me here forever and if we are being honest, I don’t have _any_ reason to be here. No business, no family, no purpose. _You_ are the only thing keeping me here.”

_Am I your belonging now? Because you love me? Or you think you love me?_

“I don’t see any other way.” Lorenzo’s expression hardened “You owe me.”

_Does that mean I don’t have a say in anything now?_

“I do” he said bitterly. “Still, I can ask questions, can’t I?”

The silence fell over the room again and Francesco could see how Lorenzo tried to choose the best answer for that. When he couldn’t find any, he decided to just cut the topic altogether.

“I will visit you as soon as I can. Don’t come out of the house too much because as you said, you could be recognized.” He picked strawberry from his plate.

And the conversation was over. They exchanged grim looks back and forth across the table. After finishing his food, Lorenzo gathered his things quickly. He seemed distracted as he kissed Francesco’s cheek goodbye. It was sweet gesture but it felt empty.

The sound of door closing behind him was loud.

He was left alone.

* * *

Francesco felt like he was on verge of madness all over again. Lorenzo left him in house, between those silent, old walls. It was all beautiful- the bay, the sun, the city but so empty and alone, filled only with words of people who didn’t matter.

_It feels like I am really dead. What is his plan? He can’t keep me here forever. There is nothing, nothing for me._

The word _nothing_ would echo in his mind in the night as he laid in his cell- in box made of feather-bed. In his dreams, Lorenzo kissed him as his hands came up to strangle him, taking his breath. Every night, he tumbled out of bed, woken up with feeling of hard floor hitting him. He always laid there, tangled in the covers, not really sure whether he could really breathe or not. Fresh bruises covered his body; two identical ones on his elbows where he fell on them, one on his hip and countless little ones on his knees.

The nightmares came back and Giuliano and Jacopo alike would visit him, when he was hurting and gasping for air.

 _And there is nothing, nothing for you._ He pressed hands to his ears to avoid his uncle’s words but there was nothing he could do; they weren’t heard, they were just here, they were known and already in his mind.

 _You were envious. Ugly, envious creature. Loveless, worthless, you killed the one who had everything. There was no one who would love you, who would choose you._ Giuliano’s face and voice was grotesquely cheerful. He would lean over Francesco’s curled frame, looking at him with mocking curiosity and laughing.

“Yes, yes, yes!” He screamed into the emptiness of the house.

_You were always pathetic, starving for Lorenzo’s attention because there was no one else to give it to you. No one, nothing for you._

“Lorenzo, Lorenzo didn’t kill me.” He finally spat out, reaching out to grab Giuliano.

He would burst out with ugly laughter that never belonged to him, happy that he managed to provoke Francesco and then he would disappear- because he was never really there.

Sleep never brought any real relief until finally, he dreamt of something else. He saw himself as a little boy in Jacopo’s house. And there was Guglielmo, putting himself between him and Jacopo’s heavy hand. _Remember that I love you always,_ his brother would repeat and repeat as little Francesco clung to him desperately with his tiny arms.

First time in weeks, the guilt and regret felt real, not automatic. He woke up with tears pooling in his eyes and he cried, really cried in a way he did not cry since he was a child.

“Forgive me, Guglielmo. Mother, father, forgive me.” He pressed hands into his chest and let tears flow. Dim morning light gradually became stronger and stronger until bright rays of sunshine were coming from behind the curtains.

Drained and with stinging eyes, he got up and looked out of the window, at the bay. Sunrise was frustratingly beautiful, like the world wanted to mock him.

“Goddamned sun” he muttered grumpily but he actually felt better now, cleaner.

_I have to write to Gulgielmo. I have to find a way._

He felt something similar to his old determination to do something, to achieve something and decided to devote most of his time to getting to know his surroundings and his situation.

 _Maybe all of this is going turn out to be useless but sure as hell it won’t hurt me._ He thought, walking hastily through narrow lane. He knew there was a man few steps behind him and watched his every movement. He took a sudden turn and jumped into the crowd, trying to lose him.

Lorenzo left him with very little money but he regularly sent packages from Florence, providing him with anything Francesco could ever need; sometimes it felt like too much. He opened them, sitting on the floor of his big, empty room. His fingers stiffened as he touched fine materials of new clothes, pages from books. He pushed all of the gifts into the closet only to reluctantly take them out of it few days later. He avoided wearing clothes but he couldn’t resist books or quill and ink because either boredom or nerves ate him up from inside at all times and reading or writing was the only thing that could mute his feelings, even if just for a moment.

As the days passed, he felt growing irritation at the lack of information he had, lack of reason in his situation, lack of planning. Or maybe- there was a plan and Lorenzo just didn’t share it with him.

_Knowing him… Knowing him, it could be anything. But he will come up with something eventually._

He made a habit out of coming to sleep really late and pacing back and forth in his room until he was too tired to think of anything and fell lifelessly on the bed to fall into dreamless sleep.

It didn’t work very well.

Now- now he could only wait, but he was ready. Or so he wanted to believe.

* * *

Work was the only thing keeping him alive in this fucking mess. Lorenzo sat in his study for hours with no end, till the papers ate his worries. He didn’t let in anyone who wasn’t a business partner in and then slipped out of it after midnight and went back to his sleeping chamber to crawl under cowers- slowly, quietly, to not disturb Clarice.

He slept better than anyone could expect- not well but it was safe to say that all of his nightmares faced him outside of his bed. This state of affairs lasted only few days without anyone addressing his behaviour.

Sunday morning, he woke with the sunrise and laid on the side for a split moment, looking at blinding light. But what he saw… There he was.

It was him. He knew, he could see- It was his hair, his arms, he just needed him to turn and look, to look at his face!

_Francesco._

“How? How? Francesco? Are you-” He grabbed his arm roughly, he needed to see, he needed to confirm… it was him!

“Lorenzo?” It was Clarice, it was her, it was her voice. “This hurts, Lorenzo, what in the name of God…”

He let her go immediately.

“It was- I thought- How-” He squeezed his pillow nervously, not able to mask his fear. “Sorry, sorry Clarice. A nightmare. Sorry I woke you up.”

_I am going mad, I am- what was it what I saw? Why did I see him? It was so real, so, so real._

“What it is, Lorenzo, tell me! You said his name, you said Francesco’s name.”

“As I said, a nightmare, nothing more.” He clenched his teeth, pressing his lips into thin line.

“Tell me what it is, Lorenzo.” Clarice’s eyes were wide, full of fear and sadness. “I am here to listen to anything you have to say. Tell me.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Don’t lie!” Her expression changed from scared to angry in split second. “It won’t work like this, if you refuse to share anything with me! It will only get worse!”

“My brother is dead, Clarice! Is this what you want to hear from me? To repeat this one thing, over and over again? To tell you every night that Giuliano is dead?” He lashed out, frustration spilling from him.

“If it’s necessary, yes!” She paled but her voice was sharp and confident. “But there is something else, isn’t it? Is it the bank? Are you in trouble?”

He suddenly felt unreasonably tired and just glared at her gloomily.

“You can tell me. I can take it, you can’t protect me from it. All of us are able to handle it.”

“No, Clarice. This… is something for me to carry.” He said, going out of his way to seem calmer. More self- assured. It worked-he saw her expression soften. They both fell silent for a moment.

“It’s not typical for you to argue with me like this.” His remark made her raise her eyebrows. She smiled- it was the smallest of smiles but it was a smile nonetheless.

 _I am safe._ He thought and felt a pang of guilt at that unpleasant notion, feeling like a spy in his own bed, his own family.

“It’s not typical of me to argue with you like this.” She agreed, her shoulders slumped in a way that spoke of weariness.

They didn’t speak much after that but atmosphere cleared a little bit. Lorenzo started avoiding their marriage bed and had a couch put in his study- more for her comfort than his own, even though he had to admit that he also felt something akin to peace when he laid there- left with his own thoughts, no one disturbing him. He didn’t have to put on his mask. Clarice didn’t mention this- they stopped any kind of physical contact a little while after birth of their son. Lorenzo felt dirty because of his feelings for Francesco and lying in bed with her felt inappropriate. Like that hatred and madness could stain her. There were no more romantic feelings between them, both of them were aware of that, but he still valued and respected her as one of his closest friends. She shouldn’t be a part of any of this.

He avoided his friends, he avoided his family and dreaded any kind of free time from work.

 _Francesco. Francesco. Francesco._ His mind would repeat this name over and over- during the mass, at the dinner table, while reading.

So, he stopped going to the church, started eating meals in his study. He hid poems deep inside of the cabinet. There was no real life for Lorenzo now, no. It was only work and Francesco.

Francesco smiling to him over the dinner table, Francesco hunched over the bank papers late in the night, deep shadows painting his face, Francesco on the priori meetings with troubled expression, Francesco in the golden light of the apartment in Venice, skin black and blue, Francesco’s eyes in the darkness of the cell, black pupils swallowing the iris, fevered with madness, Francesco with Giuliano’s blood on his hands.

Francesco saint and Francesco murderer.

It itched him from the inside, drove him mad with love and hatred. In the afternoon, when the frustration drove him out of the house, he went out for a restless stroll in the streets of Florence. He walked fast, seemingly without any particular destination in mind but after a while he found himself standing outside of Sandro’s workshop.

They didn’t see each other for only a few days but it felt like forever. Sandro also worked himself to death since Giuliano’s death and when Lorenzo came inside and saw the beauty of his paintings, of all of the work he did, he felt useless and ugly.

 _All of I do is take care of money, of the gold, only the money, gold and power. No beauty or glory in that._ He sat on the floor, watching the artist paint.

“It’s beautiful.”

Sandro only made a sour face at that.

“You think so?” His tone was dry, not like him at all. “Everything I make right now is rubbish. Waste of good paint. There is no beauty in the world, no more. I can’t find it anywhere.”

“Beauty…” Lorenzo paused, the image of Francesco appearing in his mind once again but this time, he didn’t feel guilt. “Beauty is terrible in it’s greatness.”

His friend didn’t answer, only looked at him in an enigmatic way and turned to continue his work.

“What did you feel after Giuliano died?” Lorenzo asked suddenly, in a blatant way. It was awkward- he struggled with words after those days he went through without really speaking to anyone.

Sandro dropped his brush, palette and sat down in front of him, sighing.

“I felt angry. For the first time in my life I felt anger like this.”

 _Everybody continue to act not really like them. But I can understand that._ Lorenzo looked at him with surprise and fascination.

“You know the rest. I can’t… I don’t see the world in the same way. Beauty is something else, or it is hidden from me in a way I can’t understand.” He took a big breath and continued. “Why do you ask me this now, Lorenzo? You barricaded yourself in your room for all this time, didn’t let any of us in…”

“I feel… nothingness.” Lorenzo let his gaze wander. “There is this big, empty place where Giuliano should be but now there is no one, nothing there. I feel it. I feel this nothingness, nonexistence of him. It’s unreal. It’s like I am becoming a blank page, devoid of feelings, devoid of humanity.”

Sandro looked at him, thinking his answer through.

“You may be surprised.” He said with unusual confidence. “How normal I find your words. Everyone react to loss differently but this isn’t uncommon. I have met people who reported to feel the same after the death of a loved one. Giuliano was a part of your humanity, always there, so no wonder, you feel like you are losing it after his death.”

Lorenzo felt overwhelming relief upon hearing his words, it seemed like a great weight was lifted from his shoulders. It was almost too good to be real.

_How stupid I was to stop talking to them at all._

He needed to ask one more question- the question buried so deep inside of him, he couldn’t even ask it himself.

“Sandro… Why Francesco had done it? Why Giuliano had to die?” He said those words finally, with reluctance.

 _You can ask him himself. You still can do it._ He clenched his fists, trying to convince himself to make a decision but it seemed like there was no right options. _I can’t. I can’t. I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to… It would be too much, it would be too painful. He would break my heart all over again._

_But it h a s to be done. I have to. There is no point in keeping him alive if I can’t ask him a single question._

“In all of my honesty, Lorenzo, there is no way to know.” Sandro said cautiously. “You knew him better than I did. Even though…”

He paused, like he was not really sure if Lorenzo should hear those words.

“It was painfully obvious that Francesco was… a delicate construction. Not quite suited for what he did.”

“You speak with such calmness and reason, I envy you.” Lorenzo looked up, at the high ceiling without any reason to do so. The walls were shockingly white.

“It is easy to maintain illusion of calmness when you speak to your friend.” Sandro said with bitterness in his voice. “I would like to think that even if it was Francesco’s hand who held a dagger, it was Jacopo’s doing. It’s easy to hate Francesco for Giuliano’s death, and not without reason, but it’s hard to think of things from his perspective.”

“Did it change after Francesco's death? Your anger?”

“It did.”

They sat in silence, Lorenzo tried to find real meaning, a way to decipher those words.

“You see, I wanted to paint him for some time.” Sandro spoke up suddenly. He got up and stared going through the papers on in the cupboard. “I even did… this.”

He handed Lorenzo the sketch. It was portrait of Francesco holding Lorenzo’s son on the day of christening. He recognized the doublet and the baptismal bowl. Francesco looked right at the viewer with a little surprised expression but there was a small smile lingering on his lips.

“I wanted to destroy it but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I still see the beauty in it. You can take it, maybe it will be easier for you to burn it than it is for me.”

“It is very well made.” Lorenzo faked a dry tone, trying to don’t let emotion sound in his voice. “There is honesty in it.”

He looked at the drawing made by Sandro’s skilled hands, wondering, how it is possible that only few lines drawn on paper can feel so alive and familiar.

“Thank you, Sandro. I forgot what a good friend you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would be thankful for any kind of feedback. Thank you for reading!


	3. Terrible beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back with another chapter (it was ready few days ago actually but the internet connection failed me completely so I couldn't post)! Writing this one was certainly an interesting experience because I wrote most of it on hiking trip, some parts even on a mountain top. I wanted this chapter to be more plot-heavy but I decided to move those parts to another chapter because you know, writing about feelings and stuff. But don't worry, in a next chapter something will actually happen.  
> Anyway, enjoy!

Lorenzo could have send a letter- but no, of course, he didn’t. He sent so many letters for past few weeks but not once he mentioned visiting. He arrived early in the morning, with the rising sun.

Francesco woke from a nightmare with a gasp and saw Lorenzo standing over the bed, watching him - looking so real, absolutely real, with his tousled curls and rumpled clothes. He let out undignified yelp and tried to scramble as far away as it was possible.

 _It’s not real, it’s not real, he is not real._ He got tangled in the sheets and fell from the bed. As usual. _He didn’t come here to drag you to hell..._

 _Wait. Why can’t he be real?_ He realized, finally fully awaken with pain that came with falling on the hard floor. _He did not write anything about visiting. He is still here, looking at you though…_

He sat up, freeing himself from the sheets, and stretched his neck to see if it really was Lorenzo, not some creation of his sick imagination.

He was still there, standing with arms folded on his chest. His eyebrows were raised ironically.

Francesco got up, trying to save what was left of his dignity and failing miserably when he tripped and had to steady himself with a hand on a nightstand. He sighed, frustrated. Both of them looked away from each other awkwardly.

“Subtle, aren’t you?” He broke the silence, trying to hide his embarrassment.

Lorenzo unexpectedly burst into laughter.

“Good morning to you too, Francesco.” He came closer and planted a chaste kiss on his forehead, taking Francesco’s face into his hands. He did it so casually, it hurt. Francesco’s hands unwittingly came up to grasp Lorenzo’s. He was confused and dizzy, automatically leaning into his touch.

_It’s been a long time since anyone has touched me._

“You should have written me a letter. Any reason for the visit?” He freed himself from Lorenzo’s embrace, made his way to the closet and pulled out first things that fell into his hands.

“Going back home from Milan.” He couldn’t see Lorenzo’s face but there was tiredness in his voice. He held himself back from saying that Venice wasn’t really on the way from Florence to Milan.

Francesco slipped off his sleeping shirt and was just about to put on his day clothes when sudden silence between them startled him. He turned back to see Lorenzo’s eyes on himself, staring with hunger and desire.

_Oh, God._

He felt blush creeping on his cheeks and put on his shirt as quickly as he could. Lorenzo also looked back awkwardly, his eyes wandering up and down, and crossed arms on his chest once again.

Francesco closed closet and leaned back against it, toying with buttons of his doublet. It was one of his new ones, chosen by Lorenzo, in light green colour. When he saw his own reflection in the mirror, he felt surprised- he got so used to darker-coloured clothing, it was peculiar to see himself in something so…

 _Youthful? Carefree- like? Joyful? Childish?_ He tugged at the sleeves, self- conscious. _It doesn’t look too bad. Lorenzo has a good eye when it comes to this kind of things._

_I am overthinking this. It’s just clothing._

Or was it?

Both of them stood without saying a word. It was seemingly so calm and quiet in that bright, spacious room, filled with morning light, even if something dark and unknown awaited them outside of it. Francesco could stay here, in that silent moment, forever.

It seemed like Lorenzo thought so too. He smiled lightly- it wasn’t brightest of smiles- it was a bit tired, a bit resigned- but it was genuine. He came closer, cautiously, like one would approach a wild animal- the manner of it annoyed Francesco but he didn’t say anything. When Lorenzo stood just an inch from him, his movements lost all signs of uncertainty, he took his face in his hands once again and kissed him.

This time it was anything but chaste- he held him firmly with a bit of nervousness, like he was afraid Francesco would run away.

Francesco didn’t run; he treated the kiss like a dare. He grabbed Lorenzo just as strong as he did, digging his fingers into Lorenzo’s arm. It was open-mouthed kiss, hungry and tense. Francesco felt one of Lorenzo’s hands clenching on his hair possessively and forcing his head back just a little bit too hard. He dug his fingers into his arm even stronger, viciously. In response, Lorenzo pressed him even further into the closet door and made a move like he wanted to unbutton his doublet but he stopped himself and just grabbed the it by the collar, not caring for the fine material.

Finally, the kiss stopped and both of them moved away a little bit, struggling to breathe. Francesco leaned his head back against the closet door, looking at Lorenzo unashamedly, searching in his face for something- just something that would help him find some answers.

Lorenzo ducked his head, hid his expression, resting his forehead against Francesco’s shoulder. Francesco unconsciously raised his hand to pet his curls in a soothing gesture, doing it more to calm himself than him. Lorenzo turned his head and murmured something inaudible into his neck. He kissed the place where his neck meet the shoulder and Francesco felt himself shudder.

Despite himself, he embraced Lorenzo with his other hand, pulling him into the hug. Lorenzo reciprocated by grabbing him by the waist and bringing them even closer.

 _We are really fucking stupid, aren’t we?_ Francesco thought with a sigh and closed his eyes, sinking deeper into the warmth.

* * *

Lorenzo didn’t really know what he expected from himself but when he saw Francesco again, he didn’t feel the same anger and grief as he did last time. Of course, his first reaction was to kiss him silly. Some part of him finally could breathe a sigh of relief. He became nervous when he didn’t know what Francesco was doing, away from his eyes. Was he planning something? Was he doing something he shouldn’t do? Was everything alright? Did he get over his fever?

Now he could see for himself. Francesco looked perfectly innocent in the morning light with questioning eyes hair and messed up by Lorenzo’s hands. He seemed perfectly fine even if he did lose some weight and had bags under his eyes.

 _If only I could ever predict what was he capable of doing._ The thought was bitter but it didn’t ruin his mood. He didn’t want to think, to have responsibility, to be reasonable, to suspect something sinister.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, the big question waited to be asked: why? Why Francesco did it?

But he didn’t want to ask it either.

 _I can do it later. There is no rush. I don’t want to- I don’t need to do it now. I have to rest, just for a moment, just for a little while I have to pretend that I have right to kiss Francesco and hold his hand without guilt._ His thoughts were messy and incoherent, chopped into little bits. _Hold his bloody hand! Kiss a murderer!_

The voice inside of his head laughed at him – it sounded suspiciously similar to Giuliano’s voice but it never spoke his words.

_I don’t need this now._

“Let’s go get some breakfast.” He said, moving away from Francesco with reluctance and grabbing his hand, he pulled him to the door. His hand was warm and he still seemed sleepy but grip of his bony fingers was strong.

“Alright.”

Lorenzo was starving after a night spend on horseback but Francesco seemed to have lost his appetite. He chewed on his food without enthusiasm, eyeing Lorenzo with enigmatic expression. Both of them hesitated to be the one to speak first.

 _Look at us. Murderer with brother of the man he murdered._ Lorenzo suddenly realized absurdity of this situation, of them, and he was reminded of his other conversation with Sandro.

_“Do you think there is beauty in tragic things?” Lorenzo asked with bitterness in his voice, pacing restlessly in Sandro’s workshop. Thinking about Francesco and Francesco, nothing else but him._

_His friend turned from canvas to look at him with a sour face that screamed ‘you are disturbing my work’. His hair was even messier than usual and his lips were pressed into thin line. He became moody lately but he let Lorenzo visit him and vent. Sandro’s workshop calmed him down when Lorenzo felt like he was going mad, when he heard things that wasn’t really there, when he wanted to scream to make sure he wasn’t actually the one who was dead._

_“I know where are you coming from.” Sandro sighed, resigned and tired. “But look at it this way: Giuliano was your brother. Do you still think that there is something beautiful about… let’s say, his and Simonetta’s love story?”_

_“No, it’s just so sad, it’s pathetic.” Lorenzo said with unpleasant brashness, grimacing. He was in foul mood._

_“In a way, you know…” He added in a softer tone when he saw Sandro’s raised eyebrows._

_His friend waved his hand in dismissive manner._

_“No, no. I really do get it.” He took a breath and looked out of the window, at the sunny streets of Florence. “But imagine Poliziano, for example; do you think he would be able to see something beautiful in it?”_

_Lorenzo didn’t answer. He noticed paint stains on Sandro’s fingers. There were so many of them, it seemed like the paint slowly devoured his hands._

_“People love tragedy because it makes tragedies of their life more meaningful.” He continued, voice unsure. “Tragedy from the story or a poem comforts you. But it’s ugly when it happens to you. Because it really is ugly. When we are the bystanders, we are able to see poetry in the ugliness. You said it yourself…”_

_He paused for a moment, waiting for Lorenzo to pick up on the clue._

_“Terrible beauty.” Lorenzo realized._

_“Yes.”_

With this memory fresh in his head, he stared at Francesco across the table. He was clearly distracted with absent gaze focusing on a wall behind Lorenzo’s head.

“How is the bank?” He spoke up finally, still not looking at Lorenzo directly. It seemed like he wasn’t really there.

“Usual. It’s just work and work. Nothing to discuss.” He hated to speak about it this casually- both of them knew it was more than work, it was something they could murder for.

 _Well. One could say that one of us already did._ He thought, feeling the same frustration that accompanied him while working. _That fucking business!_

_But wait… Which bank did he mean?_

“What bank?” He asked, meeting Francesco’s eyes. He couldn’t read his face.

“How do you think?” He shifted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable. “Which bank I could mean? What is happening to my bank, Lorenzo?”

Lorenzo stayed silent, chewing on his words and calculating.

“I am sorry- but we can’t- I can’t just let it go. We- ” He picked up and paused in the middle of the sentence, frustrated. “I may be blatant but I have to know! I will continue to ask questions- I can’t…”

He looked humiliated with his own inability to speak clearly, and uncomfortable, with his red face, slouching over the table.

“All of the Pazzi property was confiscated by the city.” His voice came out cold and strangled. It wasn’t really his voice.

The only sign of Francesco’s emotions he could see, was a slight twitch of his fingers and the way his head turned, just a little. His face was frozen, staring at Lorenzo

“You are telling me-” He slowly got up.

“I am telling you” Lorenzo met his furious gaze, unafraid. “Sit down.”

_God, please, calm down. Don’t do this. Don’t do this._

It only made Francesco move further away from the table in one angry jump, like it burned. He stared to pace back and forth along the table.

Lorenzo also moved away his chair from the table and leaned back, watching him closely.

“You still don’t seem to understand! You save me from the rope, bring me here and-” He paused his angry rant, took a big breath. “What now? You see, Lorenzo, the thing is, I thought about this, that you can’t, and you won’t ever forgive me. That’s not possible. And yet, you bring me here and you don’t demand any punishment.”

He stopped his nervous walk and looked at Lorenzo with mad eyes. Redness disappeared from his face and now he suddenly paled.

 _I don’t- I don’t know. I don’t know more than you. That’s the thing you can’t understand, even if you are right._ Lorenzo stayed silent, trying to look calm and composed.

“Do you see a conflict here? Keeping me here makes no fucking sense! Keeping me at all makes no fucking sense!” Francesco raised his voice, gesturing wildly. “This is never going to work! You don’t want me hearing about what happens in Florence, writing to my brother, anything! Just accept anything you say with a smile, thankful that I was left alive. I can’t! I am not here to pay for my sins fairly- I am here because of you.”

_Is that your twisted way of saying you love me too? But you don’t feel sorry?_

Lorenzo could hear desperation in his voice, desperation he felt himself, laying during the sleepless nights.

Maybe it was because of the weariness he felt after a night of travel- but he didn’t get angry. He just couldn’t find it in himself anymore. He just felt resignation.

 _Time to tell the truth._ Lorenzo got up abruptly.

Francesco suddenly jumped even further away, panicked and mad.

“Don’t you dare- don’t you dare lay a finger on me. If you hit me again-”

 _Christ, he absolutely lost it._ Lorenzo froze and looked at him with surprise. He raised his hands like he wanted for Francesco to see he was unarmed.

“I am calm. I won’t hurt you, Francesco. I don’t want to do it again. I wouldn’t. Can I come closer?”

There was no answer but Francesco seemed as surprised by his own reaction as he was, so Lorenzo walked over the table to come closer and grasp Francesco’s hands.

“I don’t know.” He squeezed Francesco’s elegant fingers, not knowing if he did it more to reassure him than himself. “The truth is I have no idea. I have no plan. I don’t know what now.”

_There is always something you I can do, something to make situation right._

_But not now. There is no plan._ That thought, sudden realisation scared him. He knew of course that there was no plan- but admitting it out loud was something else. Lorenzo de’ Medici never admitted he had no plan.

“Let me have this. I am so, so tired.”

Francesco squeezed Lorenzo’s hand back and after a moment of silence, said:

“I am sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

His voice was quiet.

Tension flew from Lorenzo’s body. He brought Francesco’s hands to his mouth to kiss them, searching on his face for something- something that might give away what he was thinking.

He couldn’t find anything.

“Are you staying for a night?” Francesco asked suddenly, in a neutral tone.

“Yes. But I am heading back home early in the morning.”

“I see”

They finished breakfast in peace and spend the rest of the day without any more fights what meant no more talking about things that actually mattered. Lorenzo let his mind shut off and he finally managed to rest a little. He didn’t let Francesco out of his sight for the whole time; they went out for a brief walk and spend the afternoon reading. Both of them laid on a sofa that was definitively not made for two people, crammed into small space together. Francesco’s bony shoulders was digging into his arm but he couldn’t care less. Lorenzo read some of his favourite poems to him out loud.

They went to bed fairly early, as Lorenzo was tired from the sleepless night.

 _It all seems so normal. Like it should be that way,_ He thought, looking at Francesco in bed. _Even if I can’t forget_ \- But _it’s not time to think too much._

He laid in the bed next to him and turned to look at him.

“Goodnight” he said and before Francesco got a chance to answer, Lorenzo kissed him, climbing over him, between his legs.

Francesco kissed back immediately and grabbed him by the back of his neck, one hand messing up his curls. It was a hard, feverish kiss and when they parted, both of them were out of breath.

“I love your eyes.” Francesco’s voice was a bit strangled, cut short by the lack of breath. He took Lorenzo’s face between his hands, more gentle this time. “So blue.”

They were so close that tips of their noses were touching. 

“I love every bit of you.” Lorenzo turned his head to kiss his wrist, right there, where he could feel Francesco’s pulse was racing wildly.

Francesco made a soft noise at that and brushed away Lorenzo’s hair from where it was falling into his eyes.

“Can I? Do you want to?” Lorenzo tugged at the collar of Francesco’s sleeping shirt, leaning down to kiss his throat.

“I do, I do.” Francesco whispered in a hushed voice. “But not today, not yet, Lorenzo.”

He brought his hands down to hug Lorenzo.

“Alright?”

“Alright.”

* * *

Lorenzo left in the morning, kissing Francesco goodbye so lightly, he wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t part of his dream. He went back to sleep right after it after all.

He felt uneasy after spending day with Lorenzo, feeling like he was missing something, like he couldn’t see the wider picture. There was something so wrong in all of this, he couldn’t possibly grasp this completely. Guilt stained his hands like blood and he started to squeeze his fists compulsively whenever his thoughts took a wrong turn.

 _This is seriously fucking with my head. Lorenzo is out of his mind and soon enough I will lose mine._ He shivered when he remembered Lorenzo’s hands on himself. _How can he… just reschedule dealing with me MURDERING his fucking brother to simply have a break? Kiss me? Sleep in the same bed as me? This is not helping. He is not helping._

He felt sudden urge to laugh hysterically as new, absurd idea appeared in his head.

_I am going to die soon, I won’t make it. I can’t- I can’t- God, someone please give me a break. Or kill me._

_I really AM going mad._

He should have been preparing to go out and gathering his things but it seemed like nothing was where it should be and his hands were trembling, and for no reason he was short of breath, laughing hysterically and wheezing. He tried to open a window but instead he just curled under the windowsill with hands tangled in his hair, pulling on it uselessly.

_Someone please fucking kill me before I do it myself._

_No, no, no- stop, stop- Pull yourself together, you really should do so-_ His thoughts were incoherent and messy.

When he calmed down, he just laid there, on the ground and stared on the ceiling.

_Lorenzo’s visit has shaken me up more than I thought it would. How could I think I would be able to just act like this has had no effect on me? Put on a blank face? Whenever Lorenzo is around my guilt becomes so much worse. And he… He seems to not know what he is doing completely. Christ, none of us should be put in charge of literally anything, especially our own feelings._

_But he is not here. He won’t be visiting here for a long time now. He has other problems to take care of._ The relief washed over him- it felt like a blow of fresh air. _He is not here now and I have things to do._

He pushed himself from the ground. His limbs were heavy and clumsy but the trembling disappeared.

The window opened easily this time and he let out a sigh when he felt the wind on his face. The bay was, as always, too beautiful.

 _Did I just try to do exactly what Lorenzo was doing? Reschedule dealing with this?_ The thought suddenly hit him. _I did. But the thing is, I need to put this aside for a time being if I want to do something- write to Guglielmo or get out… Anything. I… the goal can’t be to just postpone it. The idea is ridiculous. I have to find a way to get rid of- this?_

He thought about trembling hands, feverish thoughts and numbness. _Because it’s not helping. Guilt is real but it’s really not helping._

He moved from the window and came up to his desk, looking for the money.

Money- money was really the only thing he needed today.

 _Guilt is really not helping, especially when I already have a plan._ He thought, as he closed the door.


	4. Grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I am really happy to post this chapter, I hoped to finish it up earlier but you know how it is. I tried to make this chapter a bit less angsty than the others because you can't live only with angst, can't you?  
> Anyway, enjoy!

_Try following me into here._ Francesco thought with something akin to amusement. He stared at the brothel with poorly concealed disgust. _I’ve never been a fan of those places._

It wasn’t one of those fancy places he’s seen in Rome, full of beautiful women, dripping with gold, art and laughter. No, he picked the dingy, cheap one on purpose.

 _Even if I could afford the expensive one… Well, the cheaper, the better._ He checked his pockets again. He had a death grip on the money while entering the brothel; he didn’t have anything of real value with him but to those people he still looked obscenely rich.

 _Even my worst clothes are too good for this place._ He pulled the hood over his face anxiously when he saw the dark corridor. There were no widows and only source of light was few poor-looking candles. Corridor lead to otherwise normal-looking tavern but Francesco could see the at least dozen of haggard-looking women, lurking on a dark staircase. They stared at him with hungry eyes in a manner that reminded him of wild animals.

_I hope this is going to work. Christ! This must work._

“Girl or a meal?” Brash voice came somewhere from behind Francesco’s shoulder. He nearly jumped at the sound of it. There was a woman by the door he didn’t notice earlier; she was old, dressed in something that once probably was a canary yellow silk but now there was barely any colour on it. Obviously, she was the brothel-keeper.

“Girl.” He answered, trying to swallow his disgust. In a way, he was thankful for how plain this conversation was because one word was enough.

“Pick one. She will name the price.”

He just nodded and turned to eye the women. All of them looked miserable and poor and he picked the closest one to him, young one, with dirty blond hair and jutting collarbones.

 _She can use a break_. He thought, as he watched her get up.

Without any more words, he followed her upstairs and through the hall into room as poor and small as the rest of that whole place. As soon as the door closed, she reached out her thin arms to him with a weak attempt of a smile.

“I didn’t come here for that.” He shook his head.

“Then…” Her arms dropped and she took a step back.

“I will still pay you.” He reassured her. “Just for something else than that.”

She raised her eyebrow at this, her arms crossed on her chest but there was no protest, so he kept going:

“I need to deliver a message but I can’t do it myself. I can’t be seen doing it. I need you-” he paused, taking out the letter out of his bag. “To deliver this letter to house Foscari but only after three days from now, when Foscari leaves for Milan and when the only person home is his daughter, Novella.”

He eyed her face, waiting for clear reaction but he couldn’t read her.

“Why would I do that?” Her voice changed entirely. “This reeks of trouble.”

“You could use a break” He wrinkled his nose and gestured vaguely at the bed. “From this.”

She just raised her eyebrows again.

“I’ll pay extra.”

“Double, rich boy.”

_Time to say goodbye to my savings._

“Alright.” He rolled his eyes. “Just wear something that doesn’t scream what your profession is.”

He handed her sealed letter and the money.

“I have normal clothes, you moron. You should be the one to worry about your clothing.” She pointed at him, ironically mimicking the gesture he made at the bed. “It screams ‘rob me, please!’”

He stared at her with disbelief, amazed by absurdity of the situation.

 _Well, she is right, actually._ He sighed and sat down on the floor with his back to the door. The girl obviously took his sigh for a sign of worry because she looked at him again with this special type of amusement poor people had for worries of the rich.

“Don’t worry, I will deliver the message to your beloved.” She counted the money carefully.

 _She thinks that we have affair of some sorts._ He wanted to laugh at the irony. _But this is actually perfect. Oh, her face if she knew that I am actually her husband, presumed dead, who tried to overthrow the Medicis in Florence._

“Isn’t she married though? To that banker from Venice who murdered someone from Medici family?”

“He is dead.” He smiled faintly, feeling the bitter taste of irony.

_Aye, he is. Dead for good._

* * *

Francesco crouched on the window sill, staring down and trying to assess whether he would die or not if he fell down. The window was wide open and the ocean breeze caressed his face.

 _I am not sure which one would be worse. Dying or breaking every bone in my body but still surviving?_ He grimaced at the thought of sneaking out this way. _Maybe I could go to brothel again and sneak through the back door? No, no, that would be too suspicious, and besides, I would have a time limit. Who sits in a brothel for few hours? Well, maybe some people do._

He wrinkled his nose with disgust.

_Also, I have no doubt that Lorenzo would hear about me going to brothel two times. He won’t be too happy about me visiting there in the first place. But well. That’s the risk I am willing to take._

_Technically it’s possible to climb out of here._ He took one more look. The height and space made him dizzy. _Whenever I have to use word “technically”, it means that things are not going very well. But what other choices do I have?_

He jumped of the sill and closed window.

 _So window it is. God, I am actually crazy._ He sighed. _I am going to regret this decision._

And he did, three days later. He almost fell to his certain death five times and by the end of this wild adventure his arms and legs hurt so much, he was quite sure they were going to fall off. When he finally stood on the ground safely again, the relief washed over him.

 _All this and I have no idea if Novella is going to even show up. My plan actually is pretty awful._ He made a wry face. _But I think the letter was quite convincing. Novella is her father’s daughter after all. Money! That’s what everything is about. Money!_

Francesco wrote to her about execution of his non-existent will and requested meeting with her as, also non-existent lawyer working for them. Novella was aware that even if all of the Pazzi property was confiscated by the city, there was still one, small estate outside of Florence. He signed the letter with Guglielmo’s name and specified that it should be kept secret because of the danger that family is under.

 _God, please, make this work. I am too stupid to come up with something better. Well, if it fails, at least Lorenzo is going to have a good laugh when he finds out that I snuck out of the window._ He thought bitterly as he smoothed down his clothes and put on a simple, black mask.

_For once, I am grateful it’s Venice. Masks! It’s genius._

He was thankful for the blessing of anonymity as he walked along the canals. Walk took a while but when he finally arrived at the inn in which they were supposed to meet, he felt doubt washing over him. He couldn’t even imagine Novella setting one foot in such dirty, cheap place. Or trusting his shitty messenger; he thought with a hint of amusement about the prostitute.

 _There is nothing else to do but wait_. Francesco tried to convince himself. He ordered glass of something he definitively wasn’t going to drink and sat down.

After a while, he was pretty sure nothing was going to happen and he was ready to leave when two people entered- and Francesco recognized Novella instantly, even though she also had a mask on and she was dressed in male clothing. There was no mistake about that red hair of hers. She was accompanied by a massive man- he hoped it was just a servant she took with her for safety.

 _Are they going to recognize I am the one they are looking for?_ He thought, watching them; he could see Novella’s disgust even with her face hidden. He contemplated on coming up to them but before he could do that, she caught his gaze. He gave her a small nod.

They approached him in his dark corner. Francesco could feel her gaze piercing through his mask.

“Are you traveller from Florence?” She asked, titling her head.

“Yes.”

He urged them to come closer.

They sat in a dark corner of the hall, far away from anyone else.

“We are here, so let’s talk business.” She uncovered her face with a sigh of relief and crossed arms on her chest.

“A second, Miss Foscari.” Slowly, he reached to also take off his mask.

When she saw who he was, Novella just stared at him in silence for a few seconds, then she promptly struck him across face.

“You fucking bastard!”

 _Well, now I know that Novella has a stronger punch than Lorenzo._ He thought, touching his stinging cheek.

“I deserved that, to be honest.”

“You don’t say?” She retorted with venom in her voice. Both of them fell silent for a second after that and she turned to her servant and instructed him to leave them.

“I came here to apologize.” Francesco continued when they were alone.

“Oh, did you? Something about all of this is telling me that apologizing is the last thing you had in mind. Why the whole sham with the letter?” She slapped the letter on the counter.

Francesco rubbed his temples. He wanted to explain but it seemed like all of the appropriate words left him.

“The letter? Would you believe some random letter trying to convince you your husband is alive? You would never come here otherwise, I had to write something believable. But putting this aside, you are right. I came here to ask for help. But I know that I owe you apology.” He avoided her stern gaze. “I was blinded and paranoid and- I believed everything Jacopo said. It’s not good enough explanation but that’s the truth. And I _am_ sorry. For how I treated you and hurt you. I know I’ve done irreversible damage-”

“Could be worse.” She said quietly. “Not many people knew that you send me back to Venice and then you died- well, supposedly. So, I am a widow now.”

She paused for a moment.

“I do accept your apology but it doesn’t mean I am not angry anymore or that I forgive you. And I won’t come back to you. “

“Very well then, because I plan on staying very much dead. The thing is-”

“No, no.” She interrupted him. “From the beginning. Tell me how it all happened.”

“It’s…” He couldn’t think of anything suitable to say. “Complicated. To put it in a more simplistic way, Lorenzo didn’t want me dead and took me here. If I really wanted to escape… well, I probably could do so but, one; I am being followed, two; I wouldn’t be able to get away too far without money. The third thing is that nobody knows I am alive, even Guglielmo.”

“This all sounds… very simplistic. No actual substance.” Novella squinted at him. “What would Lorenzo want from you after you murdered his own brother?”

 _Well, I can’t tell you THAT, can’t I?_ Francesco laughed bitterly at that thought.

“I don’t know much more than you do, Novella, and you can trust me on that.” He looked her in the eyes. “Lorenzo is losing his fucking mind and I don’t know if he is going to kill me soon or if he just wants to torture me- I need out or I will go mad too.”

She still looked at him with doubt in her eyes, silently weighing her words.

“Novella- truth to be told, I don’t know what is going to happen. But I don’t plan on revenge, on visiting pope or on starting a war. I just want to disappear. Simply vanish. I want to tell my brother I am alive and then I will stay dead. You are the only one I could ask for help.” He couldn’t hide weariness in his voice.

“I see.” She bit her lip, still thinking. “You know that I can’t fully trust your words, Francesco. You are the first person I would expect to want revenge.”

“Revenge for what?” He smiled sourly. “Hanging Salvati? Jacopo? We brought this ourselves.”

“For taking your bank, Francesco.” She looked at him with a strange sort of sadness in her eyes.

He didn’t have any answer for that. 

“I know you can’t take my words as they are. But I can offer you something for help.”

“You just admitted that you have no money.”

“The fact that I can’t access them doesn’t mean I don’t have them. You see, for once, Jacopo’s paranoia paid off. We have money stored in the estate outside of the city exactly for situation like that. I can offer you thirty percent.”

“What Guglielmo would think about you trading your family money?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Guglielmo doesn’t know about existence of it. Jacopo disowned him, remember? My uncle was paranoid old bastard who didn’t trust his own family.” Francesco said it with a pang of guilt; he knew that Guglielmo probably could make good use of the fortune.

_But if I don’t get out, he won’t even know about its existence. I’ve got to make some sacrifices._

“He’ll be fine.” He added sourly.

“So you want me to send for it in your name?” She started tapping her fingers on the table, lost in thought.

“I can’t be sure that the money is still there, that’s the truth. After my supposed death, it legally belongs to some of our distant relatives. The keeper is a trusted friend but…” Francesco made a wry face. “But well, even trusted friends can turn out to be thieves. But it wasn’t such a long time since my supposed death so I hope we still can make use of it.”

“How am I supposed to convince this man to hand over the money to me?” Novella seemed already interested.

“You are my widow, aren’t you?” Francesco took out a file out of his bag and laid it on a table before her. “It’s my will in which I bequeath you the money.”

She scanned the document, still silent.

“This is way too much… unstable and relative for my liking but let’s say I agree. How much is thirty percent, Francesco?”

He sighed and looked up at the dark ceiling, avoiding her gaze.

“I was afraid you would ask.” He said in a pained voice. “I don’t know how much money is there exactly.”

Novella just stared at him with disbelief and shook her head; her red curls bounced around her face.

“You made me actually speechless, Francesco.” If looks could kill, he would be dead already. “Do you think I am stupid? How can we make a deal this way? And you call yourself a banker, for God’s sake!”

“You are daughter of a merchant, after all…”

She smacked him in the back of the head.

“Christ, I must have lost my mind but alright. I make this for you.” She took a big breath. “But I take fifty percent.”

“Thirty-five.” He answered on a spot.

“Forty-five.” Novella stared him down, unblinking.

“Forty.”

“Deal.”

They shook hands.

Relief washed over him for the second time this night and he finally felt himself relax. He looked at Novella properly for the first time since he first saw her; she was pretty as always but something about her face changed. Hardened.

 _Is this my doing?_ He wondered with a pang of guilt. _Or was she always like that and I was just too blind to see it?_

“Thank you.” He leaned against the wall and stretched out his legs, still watching her. “Not many women would do that for their shitty husbands.”

She snorted with laugher and her eyes softened.

“I am exceptional. And besides, you were shitty just on the end.” She wrinkled her nose. “And then died. Supposedly.”

She also turned to take a look at him.

“I am glad to see you alive.”

“Let’s drink to this.”

Both of them took sip of… whatever it was Francesco bought, and then promptly spit it out because the taste was just so fucking awful.

“What the hell is that?” Novella looked at her cup with horror.

“Poison, probably.” He carefully put his cup aside.

Both of them laughed.

* * *

Francesco returned home few hours before the dawn. He wasn’t exactly sure how he managed to climb back up to the window without dying and he instantly curled up on the bed; he was just so, so awfully tired. It was this kind of tiredness he remembered from childhood- he wasn’t tired from the world and his own goddamn mind; he was tired because he had to climb two floors up and down today. He smiled when he remembered Novella’s face when he told her.

_So it turns out a little bit of human contact really does help._ He didn’t realize to this time how much he actually missed her. He knew he never loved her as much as he really should but she was steady, comforting presence during the short time they spend together. _You were always a little bit too much in love with Lorenzo for us to be a perfect marriage-_ she said it jokingly but something in Francesco’s stomach flipped when he remembered those words.

 _She is much smarter than people give her credit for._ He thought, taking off his shoes and throwing them across the room. For just a split second, it felt like he was just a mischievous boy returning to his bed too late in the night. Night suddenly became his friend instead of shelter for his demons. Weird ache tugged on his heart but he ignored it, stuffing the cloak and mask under the bed.

He flopped back on the bed and instantly fell asleep.

_Lorenzo giggled, taking another sip from the cup of stolen spiced wine. The cup was enormous, certainly intended to be used by adult._

_“Try it!” There were mischievous sparks in his eyes. He handed him the cup with such self- complacency, Francesco squinted at him with doubt._

_“Should we really be doing it?”_

_“It’s really good! So much better than what they give us.” Lorenzo sighed, seeing Francesco’s raised eyebrows. “Don’t be like that, it’s Christmas. They won’t even notice. They will just sit by the table and talk all the time.”_

_“Are you sure?” Francesco caught his mother’s stern gaze and he hid the cup further behind the table._

_“Fine, if you don’t want to I’ll drink it.”_

_“No, no! It’s mine.” Francesco protected the cup from Lorenzo’s hands, suddenly convinced to try it. “Just… Let’s go somewhere my mom won’t see.”_

_“Alright.” Lorenzo grabbed him by the elbow and pulled Francesco along, urging him to go faster. They huddled close to hide the cup. When they were finally out of Francesco’s mom line of sight, Lorenzo started to run, laughing. Francesco tried to keep up as much as it was possible to run with cup of wine but he still was few steps behind when Lorenzo finally stopped. They stood under the doorframe in a dark corridor._

_“Try it!” He urged, smile still on his face._

_“Half of it probably spilled as I run.” Francesco looked down at the wine. It didn’t really look that amazing._

_"Oh, just try it, or-”_

_He took a sip to shut Lorenzo up. It was a good but much less sweet he would like it to be and taste of alcohol overwhelmed him. He looked at Lorenzo from behind the cup; the other boy was looking up at the ceiling with a concerned expression._

_"Could be better.” He shrugged and put the cup on the ground._

_Both of them fell silent for a moment._

_"What it is, Lorenzo?” He asked, eyeing his face._

_“Nothing… It’s just- we are under mistletoe.” Lorenzo looked flustered._

_“So what?” Francesco crossed arms on his chest._

_“You’ve got to kiss when you are under mistletoe with someone.”_

_“What kind of stupid tradition is that?” Francesco grimaced._

_"Hey! My grandma said so! Bianca and Guglielmo kissed, too!” Lorenzo raised his voice defensively._

_“Ewww. I didn’t need to know that. But alright, alright!” He looked at Lorenzo again. “So how does this work?”_

_Lorenzo suddenly went all red and lost all of his previous confidence._

_“So… I think that you should give me a kiss and then I should give you one, too?”_

_“That’s two kisses, you idiot.” Francesco wrinkled his nose._

_“But that’s how it is!”_

_“Alright, alright.”_

_"So… you should go first.” Lorenzo fidgeted nervously._

_Francesco wanted to ask “why me?” but he didn’t want to provoke any more useless discussion, so instead, he just took Lorenzo’s face between his hands and standing on his tiptoes, he planted a kiss on his forehead. Something fluttered in his stomach and he suddenly realized how close they were._

_Lorenzo looked at him for a second without saying anything._

_"Not like that.” He shook his head. His voice was quiet._

_“Then how?” Francesco attempted to take a step back but Lorenzo followed, steading him with hand on his shoulder._

_“I’ll show you.” He said and before Francesco had any time to answer, he leaned in for a kiss. Lorenzo pressed his lips carefully against his for just a second. The kiss ended before Francesco could fully understand what is happening._

_He could feel Lorenzo’s breath on his cheek._

_“Is it supposed to be like this?” He whispered. Lorenzo’s eyes, usually so bright and blue, now seemed almost black._

_“That’s how Bianca and Guglielmo did it.” Lorenzo said, lacking his usual confidence, his voice barely audible. “Did you… did you like it?”_

_“I think I did.” Francesco went completely red as he said that._

Sun woke him much too early for his liking; from the looks of it, he slept only for a few hours but he felt very much awake and not sleepy at all, despite his tiredness.

Francesco realized that it was the first night without terrors since he first arrived in Venice. Bright rays of sunshine came through the window as he dwelled for a moment on this memory of his first kiss. It was so shockingly vivid and remembering it was like opening a book that you lost a long time ago.

And for the first time, he let himself grieve the loss of everything that was still somewhere but so broken and unrepairable.

_I grieve not the death, but life of love, Lorenzo._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have absolutely no idea when the custom of kissing under mistletoe developed but I hope it's at least a little bit accurate.  
> Thank you for reading! I would be extremely grateful for any kudos or comments.


	5. Ignatius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I am back with another chapter! I wanted to thank everyone who have been supporting my story, I am extremely grateful for that, I hope you are doing okay.  
> This one is a bit of a wild ride, so be prepared.

_“You are a mess, brother.” Giuliano sat down in front of Lorenzo with a heavy sigh. He winced as he shifted in his seat, his hand brushing against the wound in his side. Blood stained his fingertips and he made a wry face at the sight of it, wiping it away on the tablecloth._

_“You don’t say?” Lorenzo said with irony. “I bet you are going to be in much worse state when mom finds out you stained her favourite tablecloth.”_

_"I am dead anyway.” Giuliano snorted with laugher, pouring himself some wine. “So she will beat your ass, not mine.”_

_Lorenzo didn’t answer, just raised his eyebrows like he wanted to say “oh, really?” and let Giuliano continue:_

_“The bastard is not best at stabbing, is he?” He leaned back in his seat. “Francesco I mean. You see this? What kind of lousy job is that? On a mass? No sense of style, I tell you and now I will always be the guy who has been stabbed on an Easter mass, can you imagine? And the cut is not clean at all-”_

_"Giuliano!” Lorenzo interrupted. “Did you come here to complain about the fucking cut or to be mad at me, I don’t understand a bit of this fucking mess-”_

_He paused and rubbed his temples._

_"Oh, to do both things.” Giuliano’s voice didn’t change a bit. “I’ve got to have some satisfaction, you know. Complaining first, then the lecturing, I can’t believe I am finally the one making lectures, Lorenzo- oh, this is beyond satisfying.”_

_“Fuck off.” Lorenzo couldn’t believe his brother was complaining to him from beyond the grave._

_“No, no, this is amazing. You see, now I have a proof you are actually the dumb one.” Giuliano giggled like a little boy and clapped his hands._

_"Giuliano…” Lorenzo didn’t know what to say anymore. “Just please, be furious with me, curse me, anything! Not… this. I am in love with your fucking murderer! I saved him from the rope! I pretend everything is alright! Just be fucking mad at me!”_

_He slammed hands on the table._

_“I am still your brother. I will make fun of you if I want to.” Giuliano was unfazed, sipping his wine. “If you want some family wrath, I can call dad. Or grandma if you prefer.”_

_"T h a t is why I hate you.” Lorenzo crossed arms on his chest, feeling completely powerless._

_Giuliano laughed again, happy he managed to get on his nerves._

_“Always a pleasure to talk to you, Lorenzo.” He grinned but his smile faded away into something more serious after a second. “You know, I am actually angry. I really am. But I am also very much dead. You should think about this in more… practical way.”_

_He gestured vaguely._

_"What the hell do you mean now, Giuliano?”_

_"Grieve me. Be sad. Be angry. But don’t try to figure out what I would want. What I would think.” Giuliano got up and suddenly the table disappeared and there was nothing between them. “Remember that you are the living one. And it brings you anguish. It brings you pain.”_

_“Brother-” Lorenzo looked at him with wide eyes. Giuliano seemed a little bit blurry on the edges, his light hair looked like a halo._

_“Let it go, Lorenzo. Leave him. Forgive him even, if you must. But let it go.”_

_“I can’t-” Lorenzo felt tears stinging his eyes. “It would- I would disrespect you. I would forget you, you wouldn’t be remembered enough- My little brother…”_

_Giuliano hugged him and Lorenzo wept into his shoulder._

_“I miss you. I miss you so much-”_

_“I know.”_

_"I hate him. I hate him-”_

_“But I love him too.”_

_“I know, you big crybaby.”_

Lorenzo woke abruptly. His eyes were completely dry, but he still felt phantom tears on his face and burning ache in his heart. It was so strong that for a second it seemed like there was really a gaping hole in his chest.

 _Where are you, Giuliano?_ He asked the emptiness of the room, only to be answered with haunting silence. _Was it only my damned mind or was it really you?_

There was no response, but Lorenzo sensed something, someone’s presence. He jumped up from the couch, looking frantically around his study. He knew there was nothing there, but still-

_Is that it? Am I finally going mad?_

Everything was calm and grey, so grey- it was that hour in the morning when the sun hasn’t risen yet, but just faintest memory of light appeared, painting everything tired shade of grey.

He stilled in one place for a second and then bolted out of the room, swinging door open. The corridor was the same- dark, grey and quiet. He hurried, going somewhere- but where? He didn’t fully know it.

When he ended this delirious walk, he stood before the door of Giuliano’s room.

 _Of course,_ he thought with a joyless amusement.

It didn’t change much since the last time he’s seen it- the room was left untouched pretty much as Giuliano left it on Easter; the only new thing was a layer of dust covering every surface.

 _We really should clean this up,_ he wondered, touching the headboard. He stared absently at the dust on his fingertips, before turning to the window.

Sun peaked shyly from between the buildings. Faint grey colour of the sky slowly turned into pinks and oranges.

He sat on the windowsill with a sigh, resigned. 

Sunrise was beautiful that morning

* * *

_3 weeks later._

Francesco came about to such excruciating pain, all he wanted was to fall back into the calmness of unconsciousness.

“Fuck!” He attempted a shout but it came out more as something between groan and a whisper.

 _I am so fucking stupid, so fucking stupid!_ His thoughts were incoherent, frantic. _I didn’t have to meet her once more. Why the hell did I do that? Climbing out of the window, what a fucking joke. I knew it wasn’t really a solution, but still- I couldn’t resist-_

 _More importantly-_ He interrupted his own internal monologue - _Is it broken?_

“Fucking hell-” He repeated.

Of course, there was no chance of getting up.

He tried to look at the leg, but he found himself unable to move even an inch. His strangled howl of frustration and agony echoed in the empty alley.

It was obvious the leg was unnaturally twisted, but there was no way he could examine the injuries closer when he laid on the ground paralyzed by the pain. Even pushing himself up to sitting position was out of his reach. There was something wrong with his left wrist- that he could tell.

His head was mostly fine.

 _I am completely fucked._ He thought, staring up at the night sky. He saw the single shooting star, almost laughing at the irony of this beautiful sight. Suffering took over and his breath quickened.

He closed his eyes, waiting for unconsciousness to take him again.

_It rained most of the day and it was no surprise that the climbing got difficult, really difficult. His arms were burning with strain and he cursed the moment in which he decided to go out today. He didn’t fucking need to and still-_

_“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He chanted, trying to somehow get just a bit of relief._

_There was only half of the way left. Quick glance down made him dizzy._

_And then-_

_He slipped. He fucking slipped._

_Fuck._

He heard voices, but he couldn’t make out what the people surrounding him were saying. He could see something familiar, a face maybe, but the vision was distorted and blurry. It came to his mind that maybe he did hit his head. He let go of the thought.

There were hands on him, grabbing, pulling and he wanted, he needed to curl away from the pain the touch brought- he shut his eyes and went completely still.

Darkness swallowed him once again.

_Image of Lorenzo appeared in his head, bright smile and blue eyes._

_“Did you hurt yourself, Francesco?” He asked in gentle voice, hands brushing off stray lock of hair from Francesco’s forehead. His skin was cool against Francesco’s feverish cheek._

_“I-” he started, but in split second, there was no one to talk to, because Lorenzo disappeared, vanished into thin air._

_Someone called his name, over and over again and Francesco should know who was the owner of the voice, but the name kept slipping from his mind-_

_“Giuliano.” He whispered._

_Familiar silhouette, just a shadow appeared on the wall, only to vanish the second later._

_Everything blurred, just flashes of colours, places, faces and words, fading away instantly._

_“Here is your money, Francesco” Novella’s words echoed, her red hair shining in the sun. Money is well hidden, isn’t it?_

_It is, it is, it is. He is sleeping on it, of course. Bankers keep money._

_Lorenzo’s kiss was still on his lips and wind howled, so wild and free._

_The sting of Jacopo’s strike across his face, his face twisted into angry mask. Blood, blood everywhere. It dripped from his hands and the metallic scent filled the air._

He woke finally, freeing himself from feverish images and sounds. It wasn’t really a dream, more of a grim reminder of the madness surrounding him.

He was back at the apartment, laying safely in bed and staring at the whiteness of the ceiling above him. Softness of the mattress was almost unbearable; he ran his hands on the sheets. Bandages were wrapped tightly around the left wrist, rough material felt unpleasant against his skin, but the pain weakened and he managed to push himself up to sit.

 _Oh, fuck, it still hurts._ He winced, hesitating before pulling the sheets away to look at the leg and assess the damage.

 _It could be worse._ He scowled at his own thoughts. _It sounds like I am trying to convince myself._

In reality, the pain was the only clue he got about the state of his leg, because it was completely covered in bandage. The fixed dressing was startlingly white; he ran his finger along the linen, afraid of what was actually under it.

 _Should I count myself lucky because I got out alive?_ He flopped back onto the pillows, suddenly in sour mood.

_Do I want to die?_

The question came to his mind abruptly, with strange clarity and took up the space in his mind, for a second displacing any other panicked thoughts from his troubled, tired brain.

 _I am already dead, aren’t I?_ He realized with shock. _Living for Lorenzo and Lorenzo only, being allowed to love Lorenzo and Lorenzo only-_

_It’s like I am dead to everything else._

_But-_

_Do I want to die, really? To disappear without a trace, just leaving misery behind._

He closed his eyes, taking a big breath.

_No._

_No, I don’t._

He laid in those white, soft sheets, staring at ceiling, not moving an inch for God knows how long. He let silence overtake him, clear his messy mind from anxious thoughts, slipping into a trance- it was just like a moment before you fall asleep, but not quite asleep yet.

Until a man entered a room, the unpleasant sound of door opening pulling him back to reality. The man stood beside his bed for a moment, without speaking or acknowledging his presence in any way. He crossed arms on his chest with a heavy sigh.

His skinny figure, the way clothes hung loose from his shoulders was familiar- it was the same man following Francesco around. He had dirty blond hair, a bit too long for it to be fashionable, and tired, grey face that looked both young and old at the same time.

Finally, he pulled a chair from the desk to Francesco’s bed and sat down with visible relief. His weariness was obvious.

“Good morning, Francesco.” He spoke with bizarre accent and Francesco realized in that moment that he couldn’t be Italian.

“Is it really that good?” Francesco gathered his strength for a conversation.

“For you? No.” The corner of stranger’s lips quirked up in a small smile that hung somewhere between disdain and irony.

“What a surprise.” Francesco mirrored his unpleasant tone and sat up higher, wincing. “If we are on first name basis, as you seem to be with me, would you mind giving me your name?”

Man’s eyes followed his movements with a spark of curiosity. He crossed arms on his chest once more.

“My name is Ignatius, if it’s really absolutely necessary.” Francesco noticed that he tapped his fingers against his arm impatiently.

“I don’t know, is it?” He continued to talk without much substance, curious about the man’s reactions. “It means ‘the fiery one’.”

“Supposedly” Ignatius sat still, unmoved. “And Francesco means ‘the Frenchman’”

Francesco smiled, without much amusement.

“Or ‘Free’”

“Or Free.”

Silence fell over them for a moment, then Ignatius leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

“So, let’s get over with this.” He rubbed his temples. “Tell me please, why did I have to stay up all night to make sure you won’t die and the Medici won’t kill me for not keeping an eye on you?”

“So he told you his name.” Francesco once again chose passive-aggressive tone, even though looking at the man’s tired face, he felt almost sorry for him.

“He didn’t.”

“You must have your own way of knowing. Tell me then, what is my last name?” Francesco became more wary and he fixed his gaze on Ignatius once more, searching in his grey eyes for something he could recognize.

But the answer was only man’s crooked smile.

“I thought so.”

“So, Francesco, tell me please, why on earth were you laying on that dirty pavement with a broken leg and window opened above you?”

“And why on earth I would tell you that, Ignatius?” Francesco folded arms on his chest, smiling to the man coldly.

Ignatius seemed unbothered. He didn’t say anything.

“Is that all? I would like to go back to sleep. They say sleep is the best healer.”

“Alright then.” Ignatius sighed heavily once again and then took something out of bundle that laid on the floor, and then threw it to Francesco.

He caught it on reflex, confused for a moment, still dizzy with sleep and pain.

It was piece of paper.

“Then you will write to him yourself. I am not going to explain it to him.” He stretched out his legs, his bones cracking audibly.

“I won’t write shit.”

“You will write to him.”

“Or what? You can’t do anything to force me. Something happens to me, Lorenzo skins you alive.” Francesco didn’t really know why did he play that game with him, but pain made him irritable and something in Ignatius’s calm demeanour frustrated him.

Ignatius muttered something in foreign language- it sounded like a curse, and rubbed his temples again.

“Suit yourself.” He got up. “You just turned down the chance to describe this in your own words, so I will have to assume it was-”

He paused, picking up his bundle from the ground.

“- an attempted suicide.”

Francesco opened his mouth, but no sound came out of it. He stilled, waiting for the man’s next move. Sound of his quick steps echoed in the room.

“So, do you prefer being restrained, or being supervised all the time? I can’t trust you not to do this again. You could break the window and harm yourself with the glass. You could tear your sheets and hang yourself on them. You could do anything and I am responsible for it.”

He said it without malice, but blank tone of his voice was unbearable.

Francesco simply stared at him without a word and foreign feeling arisen in him- mix of rage, amusement and bitterness.

 _Attempted suicide, what a fucking joke! Is this really what he thinks? Sounds like bullshit to me._ Looking at the man’s intelligent eyes closely, he became suspicious. _But it’s better to go with this than let them know that I have money from Novella in my mattress._

He didn’t say anything.

Ignatius stood in the doorway silently for a moment, leaning against the frame.

“I am guessing it’s supervision then. We will be seeing a lot of each other from now, Francesco.”

Francesco fought urge to curse.

_I am fucked, I am fucked, I am-_

Soon enough, Francesco could see that Ignatius wasn’t lying. He spent his days in the bed or on the balcony, reading books, always under his watchful eyes. With every passing day, Francesco became more and more frustrated, his fingers itching to throw his book across the room into Ignatius’s fair head.

The man could sit still for hours, with his long, skinny legs stretched out comfortably and book in his hands. He usually sat at the desk with his back hunched, writing letters to some faraway place, his home most probably.

They ate their meals together, in silence, or making passive-aggressive small talk. Ignatius seemed like an intelligent man- calm and calculating, but his constant presence was exhausting.

Watching him all day drove Francesco crazy.

At night, he was left with his wrists bound. It was, of course, a horrible option, but there was no way he could fall asleep with someone watching him and the third option was for him to sleep on a bare mattress, which, for obvious reasons, was ruled out.

Humiliation burned him, but the money! Money hidden in the mattress was his only way out.

 _Money! It's always about money!_ It was bitter thought. 

So, he laid sleeplessly at nights, curled awkwardly, with aching wrists, repeating over and over to himself:

“It’s all happening for a reason. It’s all happening for a reason.”

His whispers were almost inaudible. In the dark room, with only pale smudge of moonlight coming through the gap between curtains, it seemed like only silence surrounded him, soft and calm, but whenever he closed his eyes, he could hear smallest noises that reminded him of life around him: maid’s steps on the other side of the house, wind howling behind the windows, floor creaking.

It kept him awake until he fell asleep from exhaustion.

He thought about Novella: her face, surrounded by red curls as she said to him, handing him the money she managed to retrieve from Milan:

_“Be smart. Don’t waist it.”_

He was so fucking stupid.

Last time they saw each other, they met in much more elegant place, chosen by Novella- careless, really, but they were so thrilled this awful plan of his worked-

" _Well, Francesco, for the first time I can honestly say that I am glad to make business with you.” She toyed with her wine glass._

_“_ _Touché”_

_She snorted with laugher._

_They sat comfortably in the dark corner; nobody paid them much attention- they looked fairly boring, even though Francesco looked over his shoulder nervously, scanning the room for any familiar faces._

_Someone here could recognize him._

_“No, no, marriage is the worst business of them all.” His tone was light, but he felt a pang of regret in his heart as he said it._

_She raised her brows ironically._

_“You are the one to speak!”_

_He lifted his hands up in a gesture of surrender._

_“Well, I did agree with you, didn’t I?_

_Novella rolled her eyes._

_“Alright, alright, we could discuss this for hours. Let’s just drink to our success.”_

_They drunk in silence. When the bottle was empty, they both got up without a word._

_"Francesco?” She whispered as they were about to part ways._

_Her face was barely visible in the darkness that swallowed her figure._

_“Yes?”_

_“Good luck.”_

He whispered those words to himself and to the darkness lurking in corners, imagining Lorenzo to hear him, even though many, many miles separated them.

Permanent bruises formed on his wrists. They weren’t as irritating as they were frustrating and some days he imagined hurting himself out of spite, so Ignatius would be at fault in Lorenzo’s eyes.

 _Would it be possible to use this to my advantage?_ He thought with frantic unease, submerged in boredom from every side.

“Lorenzo prefers me alive.” He said to Ignatius during the fourth day. His lips were dry.

“I gathered that much.” The man turned to look at him, putting down his book.

“You would be responsible if something happened to me.”

“Yes.”

“So, if something happened to me-” Francesco stared intensely at his pale face like if he looked hard enough he could be able to see what was inside of his mind.

“But it didn’t.”

“My leg is broken.” He persisted.

“It is.”

“You are responsible then.”

Silence fell over them for a second.

“Am I?” Ignatius’s lips curled into strange grimace- somewhere between ironic smile and disdain.

Francesco didn’t answer, refusing to pick up on this enigmatic statement.

Strange flow of time and days made him drift into lethargic state, similar to a dream.

Falling asleep, waking up, falling asleep, waking up-

Until one morning, he woke up to familiar figure standing in the doorway.

He pushed himself up awkwardly to get a better look, smiling with satisfying bitterness.

“Hello, Lorenzo.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, if you enjoyed the story, kudos and comments are always appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what do you think about it because I have mixed feelings about some parts of the story.


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